


Quintessence

by trufflemores



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 5.08, Hurt/Comfort, Invasion, M/M, Romance, reaction fic, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8712610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: 5.08. Barry needs to see Oliver.





	

"Oliver."

Barry walks up to him, relief pouring from him in palpable waves. Oliver notices how subdued the lightning in his eyes is; worry haunts his expression. He reaches out with painful optimism for Oliver's sleeve. When it connects, his shoulders relax. He tries to reel Oliver in, to hug him, but Oliver stills him with a hand.

"I'm okay," Oliver promises, an unspoken _not now_ detaching Barry's grip. If he lets emotion shoulder its way into his consciousness, he won't be able to erase his parents' smiles from his mind's eye. The memory of his parents' smiles. They were never real.

He wanted them to be.

He lets the others hug him. They need the reassurance and he can keep his emotions in check with them. They aren't Barry, an emotional amplifier in and of himself, and they certainly aren't in possession of Speed Force, the ultimate enhancer. He can maintain a professional detachment with Curtis and Rene and Rory, Cisco and Caitlin and Kara. They're family.

When Felicity hugs him, he almost breaks.

 _I missed you so much_.

She squeezes him, and he knows the sentiment is shared. Despite – _because of_ – everything, they share something. Their ability to understand each other remains intact. Maybe that bond can't be broken, no matter how badly damaged the rest of the world is. Some things must be universal constants; he hopes Felicity is one of them.

When she releases him, his eyes sting, but he does not give in to tears. Gruffness fills the space. Without meaning to he assumes command, relaying the gist of their captivity to the ground crew. Barry stands back, letting the commander usurp the captain, and Oliver almost backpedals. He needs to reinforce the hierarchy they've established; he doesn't dare undermine team morale by upstaging Barry's centrality. But Barry walks off to "check on Dig." A dazed Thea and somber Sara off little input besides the occasional remark about the hallucination, leaving Oliver to tell the bulk of the tale.

It's exhausting, holding their attention. Ray offers an offhand substitution when Oliver flounders for words. Eyes burning for a different reason, he dismisses the team with a murmured, "We'll regroup in the morning." _Or mid-afternoon_.

He could sleep for years, Slade's sword lodged in his own ribcage. _My beautiful boy_ , carves the blade across his chest. _My son_ , it sings, like a gruff hand on his shoulder, constricting his breath with the sheer _want_ for his dad's approval. _My best friend in life_ , it whispers, a fading voice never utterly forgotten, no matter how many days he puts between him and Tommy.

 _Ollie_ , Laurel pleads – or is it Sara, laughing against his mouth on that stupid yacht before the world tipped and he lost her? _Ollie_ , Thea echoes, holding the hosen.

 _Ollie_ , Barry says, very quietly.

Oliver doesn't need to hear it out loud to see it in those tense, folded shoulders as his feet carry him to Dig's room. He puts a hand on the bed, needing closeness with kin, something to ground him. "How're you feeling?" he asks Dig quietly.

"Like I'm getting over the worst hangover of my life," Dig replies, pressing his fists against his eyes.

"Been there," Barry murmurs, "it sucks."

"You'd think those aliens would've kept the alien voodoo to themselves," Dig continues with a grunt. "What the hell was the point?"

"You should get some rest," Oliver responds, clasping and releasing his shoulder. "We can talk about it more in the morning."

Barry glances at him, all dark, tired eyes, and Oliver doesn't need to say _come with me_ to have Barry on his heels. "Feel better," Barry counsels Dig, taking a hold of his hand. Golden light melts across the contact, Dig's muscles relaxing as lightning bleeds into him.

"That's one hell of a party trick," he husks, eyelids sliding shut.

Nate taps on the door, lights dimming at a flick of his hand. "I'll keep an eye on him," he promises.

"Terrific," Dig grunts, stillness sweeping over him with sleep.

Entrusting his second-in-command to a rookie should provoke more concern, but the Waverider saved their lives, Nate saved their lives, and Sara trusts him. Oliver trusts Sara. Therefore, he trusts Nate.

_As far as I can throw him._

A not inconsiderable distance, he surmises, sizing Nate up on his way out.

Barry trails after him, not quite side-by-side, tension and fatigue weighing down on his steps. He moves slowly even for a normal person, prompting Oliver to ask, "Are you okay?"

Barry shakes his head drearily, an unexpectedly open response, and Oliver looks at those tired eyes and wonders how many nights it's been since he _slept_. To be fair, he thinks, his own vision borderline cross-eyed, it's been a while since _he_ slept, too. _We should've slowed down sooner_ , he thinks, running on empty, but there is no way to retroactively fix it. Only move forward.

Tired as he is, getting off the ship appeals to him, but the walk home is far and he has no desire to play with Speed Force again. Therefore, he leads Barry off to the ship's sleeping quarters, a handful of bunk-beds scattered around the room. A top bunk in a corner of the room becomes his, his weight making the padding compress but not creak. It's reassuringly small and more spacious than he expects, accommodating his six-foot-two-inch length reasonably.

For a moment, he expects Barry to crawl into the bunk underneath him and fall asleep. Then he hears the stairs chirp with movement before a warm weight settles on top of him. Barry isn't heavy, just well-defined: Oliver wraps his arms around Barry's back comfortably, breathing deep and at ease. Lying as he is on Oliver's chest, Barry rises and falls with each inhale and exhale, a tangible reminder of the realness of their world.

As beautiful as the dream had been, it wasn't soothing like a speedster snuggled up to him. It was cold and offbeat, out of place, but this – this is real. Even if Barry has changed the timeline ( _I don't care, I don't care,_ he'll insist between kisses, cradling Barry's face to keep him _there_ ), he's still _Barry_. Thea said she could leave this world because The Flash didn't need them, and maybe he didn't – but he needed Barry.

And, he knows, Barry needs him, too.

He feels tears on his shoulders and hugs Barry a little tighter, feeling his own chest constrict. Cupping the back of Barry's neck in a hand, he scratches lightly, comfortingly. _I've got you_ , it says without words. _I'm right here._

 _I thought I lost you_ , the fear-pleasure-pain-relief groans as Barry shakes. _I thought I lost you._

Oliver remembers a flash of bronze light; he remembers a Flash of red light, too, surging towards him, there and gone before he could form a command.

_Run, Barry. Run._

He did.

Towards Oliver.

The puzzle pieces click.

Barry tried to save him.

Oliver rakes a hand down Barry's back, kissing his temple. _Brave,_ he tries to communicate, the lump in his throat too thick to speak around. _Brave._

He feels Barry taper off, nuzzling feather-light kisses against his neck that cause Oliver's own eyes to slip shut. There's barely enough space for it, Barry's back would touch the ceiling if he drew himself to his knees, but he doesn't try to. Just lies on top of Oliver, covering him. Not perfectly, and never completely protected – even he can't stop aliens, not single-handedly – but enough.

Oliver expects pain, the influx of memories certain to overwhelm him, but Barry's lightning is healing and strength and hope. It's _I'm here_. However shaken, however uncertain, Barry stands by him. Face tucked against Oliver's shoulder, he dozes, breath evening out slowly, confidence he shares with few others given immediately to Oliver.

Oliver wants to roll over and lavish him, or even simply roll his hips up and receive that attention in return, but he closes his fingers over Barry's shirt instead, holding on.

He's out before the first snore, safe and warm and home at last.


End file.
